


Some Voodoo of a Miracle

by humblepirate



Series: Love Me Dead universe [2]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Assisted Masturbation, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Bondage, D/s, Dirty Thoughts, Dom/sub, Eating out, F/M, GHOST PUNS, Gen, Hair-pulling, Hickies, Lingerie, M/M, Masochism, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Other, Sex Dream, Spanking, Sub!Klaus, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 09:37:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19374058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humblepirate/pseuds/humblepirate
Summary: Klaus has a dirty dream about you, and it results in a happier ending than he could have ever anticipated.





	Some Voodoo of a Miracle

**Author's Note:**

> This is an excerpt from my ongoing fic, Love Me Dead! This is taken from chapters 7, 8, and 9. If you are interested in reading the full story, you can find it in the "Love Me Dead universe" collection to which this fic belongs. Enjoy!

The door is closed, but you just walk straight through it. A small table lamp sits on the floor near the bed, casting the room in a soft yellow glow. Klaus is draped over the bed on top of the comforter; he hadn’t even climbed below the sheets before passing out. His coat lies crumpled on the floor, his bare chest slowly rising with each breath. His face is so calm that he appears near angelic.

Then his mouth parts in a ripping snore, and you have to clap your hands over your mouth to stifle the giggle that tumbles out.

You inch across the floor and stand over him, watching the dreams play across his features. it feels super creepy, like you’re violating him somehow, even though you know that he would have few complaints if he were to wake up and see you standing over his bed.

A strange, wonderful, completely nutty idea takes hold of you. You reach toward him, intending to brush your fingers over his face, though of course they go right through him.

You brace your hand against the wall, then slowly,  _slowly_ lean over him. Even though you don’t really need to breathe, instinct catches the air in your throat in apprehension.

This is stupid, you know; that time in the kitchen was just a fluke, a bit of imagination gone awry. Ever since that moment, however, all you’ve been able to think about is how much you want to get that close to him again, just for the possibility of smelling his aftershave.

Klaus shifts in his sleep, turning your blood to ice. Your muscles tremble with the effort of holding still. Words slip through the haze of sleep, fragments of dreams carried on a murmur.

And then you hear your own name.

You can’t suppress a squeak of surprise as your balance fails and you tumble onto the bed. Of course he didn’t feel anything, but you scramble to the side of the bed and press yourself up against the window, making yourself as small as possible. Klaus mumbles more nonsense and shifts again. There comes a wispy sigh of your name and his hips gives a sudden, unexpected jerk into the empty air. The movement draws your eyes to his pelvis, and your heart drops into your stomach at the sight that greets you. Here you are, in the bed of the guy you’re only just now realizing you definitely have a major crush on, and he’s moaning your name in his sleep, and  _there is absolutely a boner straining those tight leather pants_. 

This was a bad idea. This idea was so terrible it should have orchestrated the Massacre of Novgorod, but you did it anyway. There’ll be no going back from this now, even if Klaus isn’t aware that it’s happening. You made your bed, and now you’ve got to lie in it- or, more accurately, get very far away from it.

Which is what you’re trying to do, when Klaus stirs and turns his head toward you. Thankfully, his eyes remain closed, but you can tell that the shroud of sleep is sloughing off his body. He sleepily brings one hand to his bare chest, teasing over the skin before tracing a path across his torso and toward the waistband of his pants. Your chest squeezes with a mixture of terror and arousal.

His lips sink into a lazy smile when his fingers find their target and tease over the bulge against his thigh. It feels so wrong to watch such a private and intimate act, but you can’t tear your eyes away. He flattens his palm over his length and his lips part on a low, needy moan. The sound alone has your mouth watering in desire.

It’s just so very fucking fitting that he chooses this moment to open his eyes.

****

The bedroom has become something of a haven for him. The others don’t have a need for sleep so they rarely venture into this room. He loves the windowed alcove where the bed is tucked so comfortably and the simple domestic pleasure of having a space to  _himself_. When he flicks on the lamp that he’s left plugged in and lying on the floor (there aren’t any other surfaces on which to place it, and anyway he kinda likes the boho-esque nature of it), the room is flooded in a gentle yellow glow that instantly feels like home.

H drops his coat on the floor and drags himself over to the bed. He flops onto his back atop the covers, so thoroughly exhausted that he can’t even muster the energy to pull the comforter back.

The image of the person to whom he’s been telling himself he’s definitely not attracted swapping spit with his brother won’t leave his mind, no matter how much he tries to beat it out of his conscious. He can’t stop thinking about the way their hand had curled against Ben’s cheek, the slimmest air of command in the gesture, and god he just knows that they understood how well that simple touch could make the other man bend so completely to their will. Klaus wants to feel that touch on his own skin, let them take him,  _own_ him, use him until he’s a panting, sweaty mess and then leave him in the bed without any satisfaction.

God, he really is a desperate slut.

He drifts back to that day in the kitchen, standing so close that he could see the dusting of freckles across their nose, the single coherent thought in his mind screaming at him to obliterate the space between their bodies and  _kiss them goddammit._ He never would have scrounged up the guts to do it even if the action was physically possible, but fuck, he can’t stop his mind from wandering to that place.

He can just feel the sensation of their tongue darting out to taste the skin just below his jaw, tracing a slow path along his throat and pausing to nibble at the sensitive flesh above his clavicle. He imagines them grabbing his wrists and pinning them against the mattress beside his head. He subconsciously moves his own hands up the bed, below the headboard, heart fluttering at the thought of the spirit tying him down to keep him from touching. He’d wiggle his fingers teasingly, like the restraint hardly affects him, but the way he’d strain against the rope would reveal his desperate need to feel their flesh beneath his fingers.

With Klaus bound and at their mercy, why, there are endless ways they could torture him. They could ravish his neck with teeth-filled kisses, leave him absolutely coated in their mark (and he’d wear it as proudly as a dog with a collar). Perhaps they’d offer a tiny boon, bring their mouth close enough to his that he can feel their breath tickle the stubble dusting his jaw, but pull away the moment he leans up to connect their lips. They could drag their nails down his bare torso, make him writhe and cry out for reprieve even as the pressure growing between his thighs pulses with need.

He would lean into their touch, thirsty for the pain, desperate for them to make him  _bleed_. He can just hear the sound of their cruel, triumphant laughter. His chest would flush in embarrassment but oh god how he’d crave the way they teased him. A slow moan escapes him at the thought of the spirit, still fully clothed and grinning with the knowledge of how easily they can take him apart, popping open the buttons of his obnoxiously tight leather pants. Their hand brushes over the growing bulge pressed against his thigh and even that slight contact feels better than three consecutive orgasms.

“Please,” he begs. “Please, fucking… please touch me.”

They hum mockingly but do not speed up their motions. The slow, sensuous way they remove each button from his fly is the sweetest kind of torture. He jerks his hips in a desperate bid for some kind of relief, but they retaliate by digging their nails into his thigh  _this fucking close_ to his constrained erection, and oh sweet heavens this is better than anything he could have ever fucking dreamed.

“Christ, baby…” Words falter on his trembling lips as a wave of pleasure shudders through him. He can’t even form a coherent plea, just whispers their name on fragments of needy moans.

A sudden rush of cold, like the breeze from an open window, rushes over his skin and dispels the beautiful warm haze of his fantasy. He moans softly at the bitter unfairness of being forced back to reality. The sound melts into a pleasant gasp when he stirs and realizes that, though the situation which brought it about was not real, his erection  _very_ much is.

He smiles coyly to himself as he drags a hand over his bare chest and shudders at the sensation. It’s not like he hasn’t jerked off in this apartment before, but it feels so much naughtier now with the image of his ghostly crush teasing him into unconscious bliss. The hand slides over his stomach, brushing the dark wisps of his happy trail and pausing at the waistband of his pants.

He traces just the tip of one finger over the seam of his pants, right over the place where all of the blood in his body seems to have gathered, a pale imitation of the heated touches of his dream but fucking  _amazing_ nonetheless. Gooseflesh blossoms over his arms and his heart flutters like the wings of a hummingbird against a gilded cage. The need burns through him like a toxin, a searing, consuming, all-encompassing  _heat_ pounding in his veins.

He bites his lip and shifts his hand, flattening his palm against his erection, and his heart leaps into his throat at the thrum of pleasure the action summons. He wants so badly to just buck his hips against his hand until he cums, but he wants to take it slow, as slowly as he knows they will do to him.

When he opens his eyes, he finds himself, now for the second time in as many weeks, staring straight into those of the person who had just been haunting his dreams.

He’s not sure whether to moan or scream.

****

“SHIT!”

Klaus jerks back so violently that he ends up rolling shoulder-first off of the bed and lands on the floor with a muffled curse. You freeze, halfway between helping him up and running for the door, but he makes the choice for you when he clambers back onto the bed with the expression of someone who just saw a clown jump out of their birthday cake.

“What are you doing here?”

Somehow it isn’t the question that you were expecting him to ask, and your brain stumbles over a litany of partial sentences before finally settling on a coherent response.

“I wanted to see you, so I came in and you were asleep and you said my name and- fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” you blurt. It’s all you can think to say as you push past him and leap off the bed, headed right for the still-closed door. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

He calls after you but you’re already passing straight through the door and into the darkened hallway. Ben is standing at the entrance to the living room, looking at you with confusion and wariness. “What’s going on?” he asks. “I heard-”

You stride past him and into the kitchen, glancing about for a place to hide but everything just reminds you of goddamned  _Klaus_. There’s pieces of him everywhere, you’re stifling under his presence, you need to get  _out_ of there-

He comes ricocheting down the hallway in that chaotic way of his. He’s shouting your name but you don’t allow yourself to succumb to the desire to go to him, you just rush through the kitchen door and out onto the side porch and the stairs leading to the upper floors. You take the stairs as many as you can at a time, not even sure where you’re going, just needing to be as far away from him as possible.

You turn at random and phase through the door leading into the third floor apartment. The first room is empty but for a handful of random boxes. You can hear Klaus pounding up the stairs after you, so you keep going, into the hallway which is crowded with all manner of junk. It’s like whoever used to live here was interrupted in the middle of moving and just left everything there. You don’t have time to think too much about it; you hurtle down the hallway and through the first door you see.

The furnishings are sparse, just a bed, a bureau, and a few stacks of cardboard boxes. The bureau mirror is cracked and indiscernible under decades of grime, and what passes for a bed is essentially a frame with a worn mattress lying on top. Little else is discernible in the thin moonlight streaming through the windows. You drop to the floor and wiggle underneath the bed, then lie in the darkness and wait, willing your racing heart to still.

You aren’t waiting very long before the  _creeeak_ of the front door opening cuts through the heavy silence. He calls out your name in a casual tone, but there’s a tremor underlying the word. You squeeze your eyes shut, curl into a tight ball, and will yourself to become invisible.

His boots scuff softly on the floorboards and the beam of a flashlight sweeps over the walls of your hiding spot. He calls for you again, gently, more akin to a croon, and you feel like you could cry with how sweet the syllables of your name sound on his tongue.

You only mostly pray that he gives up and moves on. But, naturally, he gets down on the floor and shines his flashlight under the bed, and of course he sees you there looking like the picture of pathetic. You wince at the sudden bright light directly in your eyes and he quickly shines the flashlight away.

He extends a pale, beringed hand and gives you the smile of someone trying to coax out a frightened cat. Your heart aches at the simple gesture.

“Go away,” you mumble.

He withdraws his hand and instead uses it to prop his cheek. “Oh? And why would I ever want to do that?” he asks.

“Because I suck.”

He makes a sound like a buzzer when someone gives the wrong answer on a game show. “Wrong. Try again.”

The corner of your mouth twitches with the ghost of a smile, but you don’t let him see it. “Fine. Be like that if you want, but I’m not coming out.”

“I said the same thing once upon a time, but just look at me now,” he grins.

“Can you ever be serious for like, five minutes?”

“Absolutely not. Scooch over.”

He switches off the flashlight and starts to shimmy beneath the bed without waiting for a response. You roll your eyes but grudgingly shift over to allow him room in your little hiding spot.

He wrinkles his nose and flicks a dust bunny out of his face. “So, care to explain to me why we’re lying under Satan’s crusty left ass cheek instead of back in my bedroom where both of us would  _much_ rather be?”

You snort. “Because I’m totally embarrassed and I came here so I wouldn’t have to be confined in a small, intimate space with you?” You gesture at your cramped surroundings. “And yet, here we are.”

“Mm. I tend to have that effect,” he hums.

You don’t know what to say to that, so you settle for glaring straight ahead and pretending that you don’t wish you could feel the heat radiating off his body. He’s still clad only in his boots and those stupid leather pants- of course the idiot would consider grabbing a shirt to be a low priority item when chasing after a ghost.

“You know,” he finally says after a too-long pause. “I’m not usually… like that. I mean, I am, but not with people I actually  _give_ a damn about.”

Too much is swirling through your brain for you to make complete sense of what he’s trying to say. “I’m afraid I’m not following.”

“Jesus, you’re really gonna make me say it, huh?”

You’re honestly still lost, so you just shoot him a sideways glance. He drops his head into his arms and lets out a muffled groan.

“Okay, fine,” he says as he lifts his head back up. “I was feeling a little…  _flustered_ after I saw you and Ben kissing, and now, you really can’t blame me for whatever my subconscious decides to cook up because it is an absolute  _mess_ in there-”

Oh, god. Oh no. This is even worse than you originally thought. You’ve been so teasing in your responses to Klaus’s constant flirtations, then you go along and make out with his brother  _right next to him_ , and then suddenly he wakes up and sees you watching him sleep like a total creeper and now he thinks you’re some kind of pervert. Sweet jesus, this is a total fucking disaster.

“Hey, you alright?”

He snaps his fingers right in front of your face. You scrunch up your nose and deliver a death glare that makes him shrink back.

You sigh and run a hand over your face. “I’m sorry about… that,” you sigh.

“Sorry ‘bout what? Doesn’t bother me. Why should it?” He wiggles his fingers at you. “What am I, a scorned maiden? Do you see a promise ring on this finger? Well, there is this one that I got from that symbolic marriage ritual to the devil that these Satanists made me do when I was staying on their couch, but otherwise…”

You can’t help it; you let out a sudden, hysterical belt of laughter at the utter absurdity of it all. It’s like he’s allergic to emotional tension, and his epinephrine is inappropriate sexual humor. He is just such a completely, wholly,  _ridiculous_ person.

“I am sorry about it, though,” you repeat once you settle down. You glance over to see his lips stretched in a taut smile, like he’s trying very hard not to interrupt with a terrible joke. “Can you  _please_ try to just listen for a minute? Just one minute. For my sake.”

“D’aw, alright. But only ‘cause you’re just so darn cute,” he says.

Your lips turn down in a grimace. “See, that’s… kind of what I mean? I don’t know if you’ve been flirting with me because you’re, like, actually attracted to me, or that’s just how you are. And I don’t want you to feel like I was trying to string you along just to turn around and mack on your brother, because that’s not how it is! I mean, it’s pretty obvious that I find you incredibly attractive, and I…”

Your voice trails off because Klaus is looking at you like a starving man who has just been offered a five-tier chocolate cake. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he stares, eyes wide and glistening with the most genuine emotion you’ve ever seen him express.

Then he presses toward you and you feel his lips meet yours in the most beautiful kind of chaos.

You must have fallen asleep and now you’re dreaming; that’s the only way to explain why Klaus’s marshmallow-soft lips are molding so perfectly to yours and his hand is stroking over your cheek, carefully, like he’s looking for permission. You grant it with a feathery moan as you part your lips to allow him entrance. His tongue feels like the most beautiful sin, hot and slick and positively decadent.

It takes all of your willpower to break apart from him, but you, being yourself, can’t just enjoy something for two goddamn minutes. He whines needily when your mouth leaves his, but then the haze of arousal is whisked away by realization and his eyes widen in astonishment.

“Did we just-?”

“Yeah,” you say incredulously. “We did.”

He reaches out to run a hand over your cheek. The simple action feels so wonderful, you close your eyes for the briefest moment and nuzzle into his touch like a cat.

“This isn’t a dream? I can really touch you?” he whispers.

“It would appear so.”

A smile twitches the corners of your mouth, and he returns with a devilish grin of his own. Before he can lean forward to kiss you again, though, you put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“Klaus, wait. Before we do that again- because I’d really,  _really_ like to do it again,” You don’t miss the way his expression brightens at that, “we need to figure out, you know. This.”

He tosses his head back with a tortured groan. “Ugh. I know. It’s just such a mess.” He glances back to you, lips turned down a bit sheepishly. “I’m sorry for making it weird, okay? I was just having the  _nicest_ dream about you, and you know I can’t control what goes in my subconscious! Though,” he grimaces, “maybe trying to get off to it was taking it a bit far.”

A hurricane of emotions hurtles through your brain at the unexpected revelation. Hold on a goddamn minute-  _Klaus_ is apologizing to  _you_? Even more startling- he’d wanted to jerk off to a sexy dream  _about you_?

“So you’re not totally creeped out that I was just, like, watching you while you slept?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Eh. Not really. I mean…” His eyelids lower and his lips turn up in a sultry grin as he leans closer to you. “What happier ending could I have asked for than to find the object of those filthy thoughts right there in my bed?”

You’re grateful for the shadows concealing the effect his words are having. “So, just to clarify,” you say, “you’re not mad at me?”

“Well… I am a little miffed that you’re not taking full advantage of your sudden ability to touch me,” he murmurs. “After all, isn’t that what you demanded the very first time we met?”

It feels like a lifetime ago that you’d sat across from that Ouija board and spoken to Klaus for the first time. You’d been so very lonely back then. So deprived of human touch- you’ve been craving it since the moment you awoke and found Klaus’s viridescent eyes staring right into yours.

You clear your throat and shove aside your growing desire. “And I really- I really do want to touch you,” you manage. “But before we start, there’s something you need to know about me.”

“Ooh, sounds ominous.” He raises a suggestive eyebrow.

God, he’s really making this difficult for you.

You take a deep breath before you begin. “I don’t remember much about my life- you know, before I died. Big details are pretty fuzzy. But there are still some parts that are kind of, I guess you’d call them intrinsic. Or maybe they’ve only recently developed, I don’t know-”

“What does any of this have to do with you holding me down and rawing me until I forget my own name?” he says.

That visual hits you like a brick wall, but you force yourself to keep talking. “My  _point_ ,” you say at last, “is that I have certain… preferences. In bed.” His expression doesn’t change, and you can feel the embarrassment creeping up on you. “They’re kind of unusual, and I wouldn’t want you to feel scared or uncomfortable or anything, I totally get it if you’re not into that kind of stuff-”

He claps a hand over each of your cheeks and tugs your face close enough that the tips of your noses brush together. “I would like you to know right now that I am completely, irrevocably, one thousand percent on board with whatever kinky shit you want to do to me.”

You could fucking kiss him you’re so excited, but there’s still more to discuss before you get into it. “I want you to know,” you say, a bit out of breath at the proximity of his lips to your own, “I can get really mean when I immerse myself in a scene. I may do or say some pretty nasty things, and I want you to understand that that’s not necessarily a reflection of how I feel about you or your preferences.”

“Mm-hmm.” He nods eagerly, eyes fixed on your lips.

“I want you to enjoy yourself, though. So if there is anything you’d like me to do-”

“  _Anything_ ,” he hisses. “Pull my hair, bite my neck, whip me, slap me, fucking-”

“What about a safeword?” you interject. “I know you said you’re up for whatever but I want you to have one just in case.”

He shrugs. “I dunno, no one’s ever asked me for one before. What’s something that neither of us would normally say during sex, and is also guaranteed to kill the mood immediately?”

“How about…  _moist_?”

“Ugh,” he groans. “I said kill the mood, not make me heave.”

“Hmm.” You squint in thought. “What about Reginald?”

His nose instantly wrinkles in distaste. “Yeah, there’s definitely no faster boner killer than my estranged father,” he snorts.

“Excellent,” you giggle. “Make sure you actually use it, too. Don’t be afraid of ruining the mood for me. I want you to feel safe.”

You expect some kind of witty remark from him, but he just looks at you with a mixture of desire and awe in his beautiful pale irises. Tremors of anticipation rush over you at the intensity in his expression.

Your lips meet in a volcanic explosion. A hand snakes into his dark curls and tugs him to you, eliciting a needy whine from deep in his throat. His tongue prods at your lips and you part them eagerly for him, letting him press forward to taste you, breathing in his desperate gasps. His shuddering breath and the smell and softness of his skin overwhelm your senses; all you want is to make him release more of those perfect, beautiful sounds.

He allows you to push him onto his back, your mouths never parting. His hands move to your rear, giving it a cheeky squeeze before wandering up under your shirt. He touches you passionately, needily, like he’s terrified that you’ll slip away again before he can properly enjoy you. It’s beautiful. The hand that isn’t tangled in his hair slides over his torso, pausing to tweak his nipple so you can catch the needy breath he sucks in. Your fingers dance over the planes of his abs, taking a slight detour to undo his belt before slipping down to tease the seam of his pants. When you brush over the growing length pressed against his thigh, he lets out a keening whine that goes straight to your fucking soul. He digs his fingers into the meat of your shoulder blades, clinging to you like a life raft.

“I’ve wanted to touch you,” he murmurs between kisses, “for so… fucking… long.”

“Me too,” you whisper.

He giggles. “You’ve wanted to touch you too?”

You roll your eyes and squeeze his erection in punishment for the sass. His eyelids snap shut and the shit-eating look on his face melts into an expression of pure bliss as he lets out a desperate moan. He strains to pull you closer to him, but you resist (not without difficulty) and fix him with a bemused grin.

“What do we say?” you ask.

He peeks one eye open and visibly melts under the confident dominance in your smile. 

“S-sorry,” he mumbles.

“Good boy.”

You reward him by shifting your knee between his thighs and pressing oh-so-slightly against his boner. The contact is but a pittance compared to what you really want to do to him, but the high-pitched moan that erupts from his delicately parted lips could rival the most heavenly symphony.

“As fucking  _amazing_ as this feels,” he chokes out, “would you mind terribly if we moved this somewhere a tad less… cramped?” He manages a jaunty smirk through his arousal. “Not that I mind being forced to be so close to you.”

You snort out a laugh but move back to allow him to roll out from under the bed. You follow him as quickly as the miniscule space will allow and jump to your feet as soon as you’re free. He’s already sitting on the side of the bed, the flashlight clutched between both hands just under his chin.

“What are you doing?” You mentally prepare yourself for whatever stupidity you know is about to come out of his mouth.

He flicks the flashlight on, illuminating his face from below like the protagonist in a cheesy horror flick. “You look very boooo-tiful tonight!” he warbles, a la Vincent Price.

If you rolled your eyes any harder, they’d be in the back of your skull (which, now you think of it, you could probably actually do, being dead and all). “Ghost puns, very cute. Can we get back to kissing now?”

“I’m just trying to get you in the  _spirit_ ,” he says, wiggling his fingers at you.

“Nope.” You start to turn away, but he grabs your wrist and tugs you back toward him with surprising force. You glance down to see him pouting up at you with widened puppy eyes.

“Please don’t leave,” he whines. He slowly brings the flashlight back up to his chin. “I just want to be your  _boo_.”

You let out a scream of frustration as you tackle him back onto the mattress, causing the flashlight to fly off into the abyss. He’s giggling like an idiot as you manhandle him into place.

With some effort, you end up with your legs framing his hips, his feet still solidly on the floor but his upper body prone beneath your weight and his arms splayed across the mattress. He’s quiet now but still grinning like a child who’s been promised anything he wants from the candy store.

As you fix him with your simmering glare, he cocks an eyebrow and tilts his chin up to bare the pale column of his throat. An invitation, one to which you very much want to assent, but you need to punish his attitude before you can give him his reward.

You caress his exposed throat, fingers dancing playfully over the skin, lingering above the spot where you can see his pulse thrumming. Then you veer away from where you know he wants your touch the most, tracing the pulsating tendons down toward his collarbone. He’s so thin, his bones poking against the skin with a ferocity and grace that sets your heart to racing. You could look at his naked body for hours, admiring it like the universe’s most imperfect masterpiece.

He shifts his hips impatiently, searching for some kind of friction against his burning erection.  _Oh no no_ , we can’t be having any of that. You quickly shift up on your knees to remove your body from his, causing him to whine in frustration. The sound shifts into a breathy gasp when you lean forward to rake your nails down his naked torso.

“That’s strike two,” you say.

The commanding tone surprises yourself, but it clearly does the trick for Klaus. He lies back against the mattress with a huff of annoyance, but assents to your unspoken instruction to keep his hands (and his boner) to himself. He squirms a bit when you reach down to finish undoing his belt, but just a look from you sets him back to rights.

You stand up, belt in hand, and appraise his body with quiet reverence. It’s such a nice sight to see him reclined on the mattress, hands splayed above his head obediently, legs spread to show off just how ready he is for you to take him. You need to work to stifle a groan of arousal at this view alone.

He bites his lip and shifts his legs open just a tad. You think he enjoys being looked at like this, helpless and desperate for you. You want to admire him a bit longer, but the burning in your own groin is making you far more impatient than you’d like.

“Roll over,” you instruct. “Hands above your head.”

He does so without complaint, arching his back to show off his pert ass framed so perfectly by those tight leather pants. He glances over his shoulder and fixes you with a heavy-lidded stare.

“Are you gonna punish me?” he simpers. “I’ve been  _very_ naughty, you know.” As he says it, he braces his feet against the floor and grinds against the mattress. His eyes slide closed in pleasure and a gasp slips through his perfectly parted lips. It’s enough to drag you that much fucking closer to the edge, but you can’t let him have even that small bit of control over his own pleasure.

You lean one knee on the mattress and snag Klaus by his thick brown curls. The action draws a moan from his lips, but his eyes remain closed.

“Look at me,” you snarl.

He ignores you, continuing to grind his hips into the mattress, getting off on the slight friction and the pain of your fingers pulling his strands taut. There’s only one way you know how to make him listen. You cock your other arm back and then, with a single, vicious motion, bring the belt down  _hard_ on his ass.

His whole body jerks forward as he  _screams_ , more from surprise than actual pain, but it’s a satisfying enough reaction. Finally, he opens his eyes and meets yours with a watery grin.

“Now, what do we say?” you ask, your voice firm and commanding.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips around heavy pants. “H-harder,” he whispers.

You think you might cum just from that visual alone. You shove his head against the mattress before he can see the effect he’s had on you. “Wrong answer,” you hiss. Your other hand readies the belt again.

“Naughty. Boys. Get.  _Spanked_.”

With every strike his body spasms against your hold, straining to escape the punishment even as he moans and leans into the lashes. After the fourth one you pause to give him a quick breather, and he whines out his disapproval. You tangle your hand in his hair again and yank his face to yours.

“This would go so much easier if you just shut up and accepted your punishment like a good little sub,” you hiss.

Even through the pain and arousal twisting his features, he manages a sultry smile. “When have you ever known me to make  _anything_ easier?” he says.

You roll your eyes and toss him back to the mattress. “On the floor, on your knees,” you order. He grumbles but does as he’s told, sliding off the bed and kneeling beside you. “Face the wall. Hands behind your back.” He rotates awkwardly to avoid jostling his boner and folds his arms behind his back, grasping his own wrist to keep himself somewhat restrained. God, you couldn’t ask for anyone more perfect for this.

Your shoes make no sound on the floorboards as you walk behind him, caressing the belt fondly. Its leather is smooth and cool beneath your fingers. You bring one hand to the back of Klaus’s head, running it through his tangled locks (you like playing with his hair more than you want to admit). He smiles and nuzzles against your hand like a goddamn cat. This boy will be the death of you.

“I think five more lashes should do it,” you say. “With the buckle this time.”

His entire body tenses as he sucks in a breath. You can see the muscles in his shoulders jumping with anticipation, the pulse in his neck racing out of control. You let go of his hair and take a step back, admiring the blank expanse of his back as you ready the belt. The silence hangs heavy with excitement and expectations.

You wait so long that Klaus is about to speak up, but whatever he was going to say dies in his throat as the belt snaps across his back. The pain is unlike anything, sharp and hot with a lingering ache that just makes it all the more pleasurable. The buckle is a lovely addition, lending a bloody kind of sting that you don’t normally get from your run-of-the-mill beatings. Fuck, how he craves it.

By the third lash it’s starting to feel overwhelming, more pain than pleasure, but he knows that saying anything will just get him further punishment. And, jesus, the more time he spends here the more he feels his instinctive sassiness waning under the all-consuming need of his pulsing erection. Beyond that, though, he also finds that it feels just plain  _good_ to bend to your will. He wants to be a good boy for you. Your perfect boy.

The echo of the final lash fades in the shadowy room, the sting melting into a slightly more tolerable burn as Klaus sits hunched over and panting with his hands still clutched behind his back. You drop the belt and lower yourself to the floor behind him, pressing your lips to the angry red welts rising on his skin. He moans gratefully at the sensation.

“You did such a good job for me,” you murmur. Your hands slide over his thighs and dip down toward his erection, which did not diminish a bit throughout his punishment. Even drained and panting, he still spreads his thighs to allow you better access.  _So perfect_.

You begin to rub soothing circles into his flesh with one hand, while the other brushes over the boner straining against his pants. His body seizes up with a desperate moan when your fingers wrap around what you can reach and give him a firm stroke. It’s a small thing, but right then it feels like the world’s most marvelous handjob.

You stand and move back a pace. “On the bed, on your back,” you growl. “  _Now_.”

He flashes you a sassy grin as he stands up. “You going to rough me up a little more?” he asks, perhaps a bit too eagerly. You just cock one eyebrow in response.

He shrugs and flops onto the bed, hands jumping down to remove his constricting pants, but you stop him with a finger over his zipper and a sadistic smile.

“Ah-ah. Not yet, love,” you chide him.

He sticks his lower lip out in a pout and crosses his arms over his chest. “I took your punishment like a good boy, didn’t I? I feel like that ought’ve earned me at least a little break.”

You climb onto the bed and swing one leg over his body so that you’re straddling his hips but not quite touching him. It’s so tempting to mark him up some more, but if you’re being honest, you’d really rather get on to the good stuff. Besides, he seems to like it best when you behave unpredictably.

You’d retrieved the belt on your way over and now you lean back to examine it coolly, paying zero attention to the needy young man underneath you. You can tell his bravado is beginning to wane as he watches you delicately finger your current instrument of torture; you can only imagine all the beautiful scenarios racing through his mind. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and leans up to see you better.

The question sits poised on his tongue, but you silence it with a dagger-sharp glare. Then you bring the buckle down, gently, dragging it over his fevered skin to let him feel its cool metal edges. You want him to remember its bite, to associate the pain with disobedience.

“The trouble with you, my love,” you finally say, “is that it is so very fucking  _difficult_ to think of a punishment that you won’t enjoy.”

His mouth falls open on a silent cry as the belt buckle digs suddenly into his skin. His hands jump to your thighs that frame his own, caressing your flesh like a penitent before the cross.

“Tie me up,” he croaks. His hands are trembling. “I need to touch you- so badly. Tie me up, baby.”

His beautiful green eyes jump to yours. “It’d be pure torture.”

****

There has never been a more beautiful sight than that of Klaus Hargreeves lying prone before you, his wrists bound to the bedframe and his chest heaving. His entire body  _shudders_ as you lick a slow stripe up his straining erection, still confined beneath the barrier of his too-tight leather pants. His eyes are squeezed tightly shut, his breathy, desperate moans escaping through trembling lips.

You could honestly watch him like this for hours. It’s so much fun to see his body convulse in pleasure at the torment being delivered upon his pulsing cock, the sass in his demeanor so easily wiped away by the brush of your tongue against his thigh or a swift bite to the sensitive flesh above his clavicle. He already has a canvas of hickies painted across his neck and thighs; you just can’t resist the taste of his skin.

His fingers twitch helplessly in their constraints. He wasn’t kidding when he told you it would be torture to be unable to touch you- no matter how much you punish him for it, he can’t resist struggling forward with mouth and hands, desperate for the feeling of your skin beneath his fingers. It doesn’t seem like he has too much issue with the denial of his own pleasure, though, if the fact that his erection hasn’t flagged a bit since you first tied him up is evidence enough. You’re becoming addicted to the way he cries and begs for you any time you go near the damn thing.

Your name floats through his lips on the crest of a helpless moan. “Please,” he begs, flicking his tongue out to wet his chapped lips. “Please, let me touch you. Fuck, I’ll do- anything, just please, god, let me touch you.”

You sit up and fix him with a critical gaze, and though he fusses a bit at the loss of your tongue against his cock, he doesn’t do more than that. He really has been such a good boy for you, and it isn’t like the torture has no effect on your own situation. It would be nice for both of you to get a bit of relief.

He starts to protest when you slide off the bed, and you give his knee a playful smack. “Hush now,” you chastise him. 

His head snaps to attention at the sound of your zipper going down. When he sees you staring at him, lips cocked in a playful smile and hands poised over your fly, he positively  _melts_.

“Fuck  _yessss_. I want to see you, baby, please,” he groans.

A wave of arousal rushes through you at the sound of his beautiful begging. He’s not going to get it that easily, though.

You spin around and slide your hands over your jean-clad cheeks, leaning forward and arching your back to give him the full view. When you raise back up and glance over your shoulder, he’s gone completely slack-jawed, mouth watering at your display.

You flash him a seductive grin before you turn back around and start to work your pants down over your hips. When you’ve slid them down over your thighs, you take your time peeling them off the rest of the way. As you stand back up, you trail your hands up your sides, shuddering at the pleasant tingles that your own touch evokes.

When you finally turn back to face him, Klaus looks like he might implode. His eyes are bugged out and his tongue nearly lolls out of his mouth the way he’s panting for you. At the sight of your lower body almost fully revealed to him, the bed frame shakes with how hard he tugs at the restraints anchoring him to the headboard.

“Fucking  _hell_ ,” he gasps. He looks like he wants to say more, but all that escapes is a low, pathetic whine. His tongue flicks out to lick his lips, and your thoughts jump immediately to how amazing that tongue would feel on you instead.

You glide across the floorboards and hop back onto the bed. You hook your leg over his form once again, but this time you straddle his chest. This close you can see him salivating as he takes in your barely clothed pelvis  _this fucking close_ to his face. It’s fairly evident from the state of your underwear, however, that the whole situation has been affecting you as much as it has him.

“It seems I’m not the only guilty party here,” he teases. His steely eyes flick up to yours. “Really, dearest, there’s no reason you should suffer too. Bring that sweet little tush over here and I’ll give you a reward, hm?”

You scoff, only partly to disguise the husk of arousal creeping into your voice. “You vastly overestimate your own charm,” you say.

“I’m only pointing out what we’re both thinking.” His lips twitch into a cheeky grin. “This would be so much easier if you would just be a good dom and fuck me.”

Fuck, there’s no way you can deny him when he twists your own words like that. Still, his rebellious attitude cannot go unpunished.

You lean down to the level of his face, so close you can feel his huffing little breaths against your cheek. You clutch his jaw in one hand so that he cannot speak and bring your lips down to his ear.

“I think it’s time I give that sassy little mouth something better to do.”

A whimper of anticipation puffs against the side of your face at the words. You sit back up and release his jaw to run your thumb over his lower lip. The skin is pink and a bit cracked from how much he’s been chewing at it. His tongue slides out to lick over your thumb slowly, teasingly- and then you think you might come right there when he sucks the digit into his mouth. He acts like he’s trying to suck you off, lapping all over the length and moaning in a way that sends beautiful vibrations straight through your bones.

After several minutes of this stimulation you withdraw your thumb and slap him open-palmed across the face. It’s nowhere close to your full strength, but you nail him on the meat of the cheek and elicit a terrifically satisfying  _smack_. His head jerks to the side and he lets out a torturous cry.

“There’s no need to be so gentle,” he chokes out around strangled breaths. He tosses the sweaty brown curls out of his eyes to look at you full on. The burning in his eyes tells you the unspoken words:  _I can take it_. 

You know he’s just trying to goad you into smacking him around a little, but damn him, it’s working. You snag one hand in his flyaway locks and give them a hard yank, forceful enough that you can see the tendons in his neck straining under the motion. He’s laughing, a gleeful, victorious laugh at having gotten his way. The sound grinds on your brain.

You release his head and shove two fingers into his mouth to shut him up. He laughs even harder, until you manage to maneuver your way down to his gag reflex, and then his body is spasming with gurgling coughs. You give him a triumphant smile of your own as his cheeks hollow around your fingers and his eyes slide closed in bliss, giving himself over to the desire to pleasure you.

It’s a strange mix of stimulations. You are stroking and thrusting into his mouth the way you would if you were fingering him, and Klaus is treating your digits to the world’s most marvelous blowjob. You thrill in the heat and wetness of his perfect mouth, his tongue twisting and stimulating your skin so well your toes are curling.

Without realizing it, you’ve begun to grind your hips against his chest. When he notices it as well, he moans in encouragement and thrusts his head forward as if he means to deepthroat your fingers. The sensation is wonderful, and strange, and it feels like something hot is constricting around your chest.

Fuck, this is all too much.

You withdraw your fingers and scoot back, panting with shallow desire. You have to close your eyes for a few moments or the lust-struck fire burning in Klaus’s eyes might actually turn you to cinders.

When you look back to him, drool trailing over his chin and his swollen lips peeking up in a self-satisfied grin, the sight nearly kills you.

He tilts his hips up to grind against your backside, and you can feel the compact hardness pressing against your ass. Normally you would pull off of him immediately, but with what you have planned next, you think he’ll need this little bit of relief to keep him from outright combusting in five minutes.

You bring the two fingers, still soaked with Klaus’s saliva, to the crook of your hip and slip them beneath the band of your underwear. His breath catches at the sight. You’re already slick with arousal, so it is unbelievably easy to bring yourself nearly to the edge and finally,  _finally_ give yourself the relief you’ve been waiting for. You allow yourself to become lost in the primal pleasure of it, eyelids fluttering closed at the beautiful slide of fingers over wanting flesh, blood thrumming in your ears at the tremble and rush of satisfaction pulsing through your bones.

“Please…”

Klaus’s broken plea cuts through the haze of your desire. Your eyes snap back open and lock on his slack-jawed expression, his wrists flexing against the restraints, the muscles in his abdomen tensing with the effort not to roll his hips against your own. His eyes are watery with heartbreak that you would deny him the joy of bringing you to orgasm.

Nothing more beautiful has ever existed.

You continue to grind against your hand, while the other one reaches out to stroke over his cheek. He twists his upper body to press into your touch, his eyes sliding shut. His breath pants hotly over your skin and he turns his head to press sloppy kisses to your palm.

“Tell me what you want, Klaus,” you murmur. “You know I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you need.”

He whines when you take your hand away, but instead of answering you he just digs his teeth into his lip and rolls his hips again. You slap him on the cheek considerably harder than before, and though his head jerks sideways there is a note of arousal hanging on his pained cry.

Your hand snags in his curls and jerks his head back toward you. “Tell me. What. You  _want_ ,” you hiss.

“P-please touch me,” he croaks. “It’s fucking torture to watch you getting yourself off, Christ. Please let me help you.”

You hum absently as you tilt your hips, grinding into your hand but making sure to graze against his erection at the same time. His lips tremble around the moan that escapes him. “That’s not good enough, darling,” you purr.

He takes a shuddering breath. “I need you, fucking-  _please_ let me touch you. It hurts so badly. I need you to just, just fucking  _use_ me. Let me make you come, or make  _me_ come, or just…” He gasps in a helpless breath and licks his lips. “You’re driving me crazy, darling. Please.”

You trace a finger over his chest and flick one of his pert nipples. The spasm that rocks his upper body feels as wonderful as a mini orgasm.

Slowly, so very slowly, you shuffle back until you can gain access to his trousers. You pull the zipper down with careful motions, drawing out the moment until it’s loose enough to remove entirely. You hook your fingers in the belt loops and, with his eager assistance, shimmy the ridiculous leather pants down his legs and off completely.

Two wonderful things happen the moment you get them off of him. He huffs out a moan of relief as his erection is finally, finally freed of the leather prison in which it’s been confined for so long.

In the same instant, you notice that, rather than the plain briefs you had been expecting, the underwear that graces his beautiful slim hips consists of a few scraps of skimpy black lace.

The boy is wearing  _lingerie,_ for chrissake.

You can’t stifle the moan that escapes your lips at the sight. Your fingers tease over his skin and fiddle with the elastic, pulling it taut and letting it go to hit his skin with a satisfying  _snap!_  

“Were you planning for this?” you hum. “Or is skimpy lingerie just part of your daily ensemble?” You can’t conceal the predatory grin that stretches your lips. Both scenarios are equally enticing, and equally likely.

“Mm-hm,” he whimpers, rolling his hips at your touch. He lets out a reedy, high-pitched moan as you tease the skin just above his pelvis.

You lean down and trail your tongue over the significant bulge in the lacy fabric. The breath that punches out of his lungs sends all the blood in your body racing south.

You run the fingers still slick with your own arousal over the length of his cock. Klaus groans when you tease the sensitive flesh, and you can see his thighs twitching with the effort not to thrust against you.

“You look so pretty in your lacy panties,” you murmur sweetly. “I wonder… Were you going to try to seduce me tonight?”

“L-like I’d need some fancy lingerie to do that,” he chuckles. His expression is self-assured, but the tension in his neck gives away just how very difficult it is for him to hold back from trying to devour you.

The confidence melts away with a single swipe of your tongue over the tip of his cock. A damp spot has formed in the fabric where he’s leaking precome. The bed frame creaks under the force of his wrists tugging against their restraints, mingling with his frenzied moan.

You kiss along his trembling thighs, letting a bit of teeth slip into your soothing pecks. He emits a breathy whine as you trail your fingers all over him, his stomach and hips and thighs, just wanting to feel all of him now that you are finally able to. When your lips near the crease of his pelvis, you switch from gentle kisses to a full-on bite, sinking your teeth deep into the meat of his inner thigh. At the same time you dig your nails into his skin and  _drag_ them down his thighs, leaving beautiful red marks on the abnormally pale canvas.

He shrieks in pain, but you don’t miss the way his cock twitches with need. You giggle as you bring your mouth back to his dick, tonguing the skin through the sheer fabric.

“Christ, baby, holy  _fuck_ ,” he groans. “Please stop teasing. I can’t take it anymore, please…”

“Aww, are you going to come when I’ve barely even touched your cock?” you tease.

“ _Yes_ ,” he groans. “Jesus, this is fucking  _torture_. You should see how sexy you look like this, god.”

You hum thoughtfully as you trace your tongue over the outline of his cock straining against the flimsy black lace. He  _has_ been quite well-behaved, and you suppose that deserves another reward. As nice as it is to listen to him begging… you’d really rather he be doing it while his dick is in your mouth.

Klaus is so out of it he barely registers you tugging his panties to the side to get to his dick. His entire body shudders with a rush of pleasure when you wrap your lips around the head. His breaths begin to come in short pants laced with a high-pitched keening as he struggles to keep from thrusting into your mouth.

You grasp the base of his dick and tease the slit, prodding it with just the tip of your tongue before dipping down to trace over his shaft and back up again. His skin is glistening with saliva and a bit of precome. As you tease over the head, the organ twitches and more precome seeps out.

“You’re already leaking so hard for me. What a good boy,” you giggle as you kiss down his shaft.

He moans and twitches at the derogatory praise. “I wanna be so good for you. Please,” he gasps, “please let me be your good boy. Let me- you-  _fuuuck_.”

“Oh? This isn’t enough for you?” You squeeze the base of his cock and curl your tongue around the head to emphasize your point.

Klaus struggles to speak through the tremors wracking his body. “N-no, it’s wonderful, it’s perfect, but. I want to taste you. God, I want it so bad. Please let me make you come, darling,” he whines.

You very well might come from his words alone. You have to close your eyes for a few moments to collect yourself before you can gather the strength to move. When you finally do, you shuffle toward the headboard, pausing when you’re straddling Klaus’s chest.

You place a gentle hand against his cheek. “Do you really want to do this?”

He nods so enthusiastically that you’re afraid it will cause him brain damage. “Yes, please. Fucking hell, I want to taste you so badly,” he whines.

The burning in your core fully ignited, you flash him a teasing smile before shuffling forward a bit more until you’re lowering yourself over his face. Instantly his mouth latches onto you. It’s absolutely wonderful- the motions of his perfect tongue against your most sensitive part, the scratch of his scruffy chin against the inside of your thighs, the hungry little moans he releases as he devours you. Your fingers clench around the bars of the bed frame as you feel yourself rocketing toward your peak. The obscene smacking noises that would normally have you flushing with embarrassment now feel arousing, evidence of the eagerness and desire with which he stimulates you.

That’s what you find truly sexy about the whole scene: not just the act itself, but the way he seems so excited to do it, the  _passion_ with which he takes you apart and rearranges your atoms and molds you back together with just his lips and tongue. He makes a home in that most secret part of you, something that would terrify you with any other partner but with Klaus just feels beautiful and wonderful and  _right_.

The pleasure is building from a low ripple to something more akin to a tsunami. You can feel yourself wavering on the precipice, already so turned on from all the teasing and how well-behaved Klaus is being for you.  _Your perfect boy_. He licks and sucks and strokes you with his tongue in all the most incredible ways, shooting you straight to the zenith of your orgasm. One hand darts to his hair and  _pulls_ , eliciting more of those amazing moans that vibrate against your flesh and rumble through your bones.

“Fuck, baby- I’m gonna come,” you gasp through shuddering breaths. Klaus makes a noise that sounds like encouragement and his mouth speeds up on you, pressing into your skin like he’s actually trying to consume you. Your orgasm is building like a rapidly expanding balloon, and you feel that any moment it’s going to combust, it’s pulling you higher and higher and you want nothing more than to let go, let  _go_ -

A shriek escapes your lips as you finally hit your climax. Everything goes white for several moments, nothing but the rush of blood in your ears and the sound of your own harsh, ragged panting. The sensation seeps outward from your core, leaving your limbs feeling soft and a bit fuzzy like the static on a broken television set. Slowly, slowly, the aftershocks drain away and you’re left with just a bone-deep satisfaction.

You pull off of Klaus and collapse beside him on the mattress. His face is shiny with drool and your own fluids. He makes sure to catch your eye, giving you a sultry wink before his tongue laps at the skin around his mouth, licking up all the traces of your desire. You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything more wonderful.

The sight is hot enough to spark a tiny bit of arousal in your core, but truthfully, you’re starting to feel quite exhausted. There is also, of course, the matter of Klaus’s own impending orgasm. His twitching cock is still at full mast and drooling precome all over the lacy panties you’d hastily yanked aside.

You trace a finger over his cheek, catching a drop that he’d missed. When you pop the digit in your own mouth, he looks like he might come just at the sight. The hoarse groan that rushes out of him is so deep you have to glance at his pelvis just to make sure he didn’t actually orgasm already.

“That was- fucking  _incredible_ ,” he moans.

“I’ll admit, it wasn’t half-bad,” you tease. “But it seems like there’s still the matter of yourself to be addressed.” As you say it, you drag one finger along his weeping shaft. The action makes him whimper softly.

“Please please please, darling, I’ll do anything. Please let me come,” he gasps.

You finger the leather belt fastening his wrists to the bed frame. “Do you want this off when I do it, love?”

He shakes his head quickly and gives you a pleading look.

With a sultry wink, you slither down the bed until you’re at mouth-level with his dick. You give it a firm stroke, causing him to groan as more precome beads up. The sight gives you a sudden, dirty idea. “I think,” you hum, “that we ought to find a gag for that pretty mouth of yours.”

“Yes  _please_ ,” he whines.

You get him to lift his hips enough to shimmy the panties off of him, then use the fabric to mop up the precome leaking from his cock. You stuff the lingerie into his mouth, instantly muffling his begging cries.

“The only thing I want to hear out of that mouth is your pretty little moans,” you order him. “If you need to use your safeword, knock on the wall three times. Got it?”

He nods eagerly and whimpers around the gag.

You give his cock a few more strokes- you don’t even need spit to lubricate it, he’s leaking so much- before you close your lips around the head. You start out carefully, only taking what you can immediately handle, your fingers stimulating what your mouth can’t reach while you hollow your cheeks and suckle on the tip. You alternate between swirling your tongue around the head and tracing over his slit, all the while making sure to squeeze and stroke the shaft enough to provide that extra stimulation.

You’d been a bit self-conscious about your blowjob skills, but from the incredible sounds coming from Klaus’s mouth, you’d wager that you’re doing a pretty bang-up job. Even through the gag you can hear his desperate keening moans and half-formed pleas. You have to press your free hand against his hip to keep him from thrusting into your mouth (for now, at least). You hazard a glance upward and feel your heart seize up in amazement at the completely blissed-out expression on his face- eyes squeezed tight shut, jaw tensing, his entire body trembling with waves of pure arousal.

Once you’ve established a good motion, you start to take in a little more of his cock. You bob your head rhythmically, not taking in too much in one go, letting him suffer a bit as you ever so  _slowly_ inch down his cock. Your jaw aches from the stretch and strain of keeping your teeth back- though he doesn’t seem too upset when they graze slightly against his dick, but that’s a kink for another day- but gradually, you make your way almost to the base.

You’re a bit disappointed that you can’t take the whole thing, but it’s difficult enough not to gag with what you’ve got now, and anyway Klaus certainly isn’t giving any complaints. He’s maneuvered his fingers around the bars of the headboard and is tugging at them with surprising gusto; you’re a bit nervous that they might actually shatter with the way he’s going at it. Then the tip of his dick brushes your uvula, and you have to pull off to emit an undignified coughing fit.

Through the sound of your own hacking, you hear a muffled rapping- three knocks somewhere above your head. Klaus’s safety signal. Stifling your strained breathing, you sit up and pull the gag out of his mouth so he can speak.

“Are you okay?” he asks as soon as his mouth is clear.

You start to speak, but that triggers another coughing fit, so you just give him a thumbs-up instead.

“Okay, good. I didn’t actually need to use the safeword, I just wanted you to take the gag out so I could make sure you’re alright.” He gives you a smile that is so gosh darn sweet it feels like your heart is made of cotton candy.

“Thank you,” you say once you’ve mostly recovered your voice. “I’m fine, really. It was just kind of unexpected.”

“Excellent! In that case, kiss me.”

His lips are so unendingly warm and soft, a bit chapped from how much he’s been biting them but that makes the experience all the more incredible. He kisses you passionately but unhurriedly, taking his time to taste you, tongue exploring your mouth with more inquisitiveness than burning need. You’re content to take a breather and just kiss him, relishing your ability to touch the perfect body you’d been admiring for so long. It’s the kind of unearthly fantasy that you never want to end.

After a few minutes, however, Klaus’s kisses become a bit hungrier, the contact of your lips more searching. You smile into the kiss and snake one hand over his chest, his stomach, toward where he is still very much on the brink of orgasm.

“Wait,” he gasps. You pause, afraid for a moment that you’ve done something wrong, but he presses a quick peck to the corner of your mouth to soothe you. You pull back to look at his face. “I was hoping that you might let me live out one of my… shall we say, tamer fantasies.”

“Oh? Do tell,” you murmur.

He bites his lip and his eyes dart to the side, looking almost- shy? “I want you to kiss me,” he says cautiously, “while I… jerk myself off.”

If there was an egg on your face, it would fry instantly with the heat that rushes to your cheeks. Klaus looks alarmed, until you whisper, “That might just be the hottest thing you could have said.”

You quickly undo the belt fastening him to the bed frame and rub over his wrists to ensure the circulation returns. Then he takes one of his newly freed hands, cups your cheek tenderly, and guides your mouth back to his.

It’s more beautiful than you could have ever imagined. You can’t resist bringing a bit of pain into the kiss, nipping at his lower lip and teasing your nails over the bruises pressed into his throat. You swallow the throaty laugh he releases into your mouth. Soon, however, the laughter turns to moaning and the  _slap_ of his hand jerking his cock to orgasm speeds up. His other hand has never left your cheek, and his grip tightens as his climax swiftly approaches.

“I’m so fucking close. So close- gonna come for you, love,” he whispers.

“Do it. Come for me. Come for me now.”

He gasps. “Pull my hair- please-”

You oblige without question. He smashes his mouth against yours as he moans at the beautiful pain- it’s less a kiss now and more a colliding of lips and teeth and tongues, your breaths mingling in the shared heat. His fingers are trembling, you can tell how close he is by the way his breath comes in strangled little gasps, he’s almost there-

A great, guttural moan tumbles from his lips as he spills into his hand. The two of you sit together for many long moments, letting your pants wash over one another’s skin, just enjoying the heat and sensation of it all.

You can’t sit there forever, though, and finally Klaus draws himself reluctantly from your embrace to find something to wipe himself off. You lie down on the bed and when he’s finished, you hold your arms out in an invitation for him to come cuddle. He crawls gratefully into your embrace, nuzzling into your chest and letting out a contented sigh.

“So. That was incredible,” you say.

He laughs, a sound remarkably free of distress or fear. “Yeah. It kinda was,” he agrees.

You begin to run a hand through his hair in slow, rhythmic strokes, and he nuzzles your neck happily. “If you’re feeling up to walking downstairs, I’ll run a bath for you. Maybe make you some tea or something,” you offer.

He hums softly. “Maybe in the morning. Right now I’m so tired I don’t think I ever want to move from this stupid mattress.”

“Hey, it’s not that bad. At least it got the job done,” you joke.

He doesn’t respond. You peek down at his face tucked into the space above your clavicle, and see his features relaxed in the calm of sleep. For the first time since you realized you were dead, you can feel your own body aching with the need for rest. You let your eyelids slide closed and curl around your lover’s body, fingers still buried in his beautiful brown curls.

**Author's Note:**

> I welcome any feedback or suggestions that anyone has. You can contact me by commenting below or sending me a message on Tumblr at humblepirate. Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Title is from Zombie Love by Bohnes (thanks to 0_TeddyBlue_0 for the song suggestion!)


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